Tag Archives: Piedboeuf

Jupiler is probably the most popular beer in Belgium, in terms of hectolitres consumed. If you thought that every Belgian sat in their local cafe sipping Trappistes Rochefort 8s (#31), or Orvals (#37) then you are sadly mistaken. As with any country nowadays pale lagers are king, and Belgium is no exception. The name of the beer comes from the town in which the Piedboeuf brewery is based; Jupille-sur-Meuse, once a municipality itself, but now rather subsumed by the city of Liege.

The logo of Jupiler is that of the bull, and is very much marketed at the male gender in Belgium. The beer is the main sponsor of the top Belgian football division, and has also sponsored the Belgian national football team. I don’t need to sum up how Jupiler represents the masculinity of its drinkers, as no better illustration exists than the marketing contained within the official website. Enjoy…

Jupiler has an outspoken image of masculinity, courage and adventure. Furthermore, Jupiler understands men like no other brand and shares their best moments. This combination of male bonding, self-confidence and self-relativation, speaks to all men and makes Jupiler an ally on their road through life.

Jupiler is the official sponsor of the highest Belgian football division, the Jupiler League, and also supports the Belgian national football team. Just like football, Jupiler is all about competence and ruggedness, effort and reward, team spirit and… festivity!

Aside from understanding exactly what constitutes ‘self relativation’, I am keen to know what exactly Jupiler contains that ensures my ‘competence and ruggedness’. It is in truth a pale lager made from maize which has very little flavour. I drunk this beer while enjoying a cottage in rural Devon. Had it been even faintly drinkable I might have managed to quaff half a crate, beat my chest and go fight with a few locals but it had barely touched the sides before I decided to quickly move onto another beer that tasted of something. So far plenty of effort, and very little reward. What a load of bull.

I already started the story of Leffe (#25), and predictably it didn’t take too long to be able to continue the tale of how she ended up as part of the world’s largest brewery, although I may (dependent on space) leave the rest for the next Leffe beer. Lets see how far we get. Ok, on with the tedious global bullshit.

We left the story on the Artois takeover of 1977. Artois themselves were the second largest brewer in Belgium at the time, and also had a rich history – having been set up in 1366 as Den Horen of Leuven. Sebastien Artois purchased the brewery in 1717 and decided to name it after himself. Meanwhile, back in 1977, and now run by the Spoelberch family, Artois were in direct competition with the largest Belgian brewer Piedboeuf, and the Van Damme family. Piedboeuf themselves had a rich history, having brewed since 1853, and neither wanted to give up the power. The end result was that to avoid the detrimental effects of intense competition, the two families merged in 1987 to form Interbrew, who eventually went on to acquire almost three quarters of the Belgian beer market. Interbrew used the brands of Stella Artois, Leffe, Hoegaarden and Jupiler to spearhead this assault, and went on to acquire numerous other brands and brewers across Europe, including Belle-Vue in 1991.

Interbrew were by now the 4th largest brewer in Europe, although real global ambition soon took hold of them, and they sought to break into the North American market. This was always going to be a tough ask, as Anheuser-Busch and Miller dominated two thirds of the market, but craft beers from Europe were becoming more popular, and Interbrew were in a position to buy out Labatts in 1995 which really put them on the North American map. This was soon followed up by takeovers of Bass and Whitbread in the UK, Becks in Germany, Oranjeboom in the Netherlands, and Peroni in Italy among many many others. Interbrew were suddenly a major force in the world, and the company then set its sights on the very top. But surely that’s another story.

Anyway, Leffe Blonde had begun to grow on me. I was always previously a bigger fan of the brown, but was beginning to appreciate the blonde. I decided to try the 750 ml bottle. The colour was pure golden, with a lacy thin head that sat on a fizzy soup of bubbles. The taste was striking and typical of many abbey blondes but still with that recognisable Leffe taste that despite its availability is annoyingly good. I ended up finishing the whole bottle without sharing, unlike some breweries we have recently mentioned.